


I can't tell you if I like it, I like it.

by barthelme



Series: It's only sex. [1]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: ...hopefully PWP, Asshole Armie, Bartender Armie, Busboy Timmy, Come Swallowing, Dirty Talk, M/M, Masturbation, Name-Calling, Oral Sex, PWP, Semi-Public Sex, Spit Kink, remember what i said about rough sex and dirty talk for a year?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:01:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22797007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barthelme/pseuds/barthelme
Summary: Armie is a bartender and pretty big asshole. Timmy is a (fairly terrible) busboy. Timmy's car is in the shop and he needs a ride home after work. Looks like he'll need to make a deal with Armie.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Series: It's only sex. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1733152
Comments: 76
Kudos: 316





	I can't tell you if I like it, I like it.

Timmy waits until Armie _politely_\--

(“Folks, we closed twenty fucking minutes ago, so drink up, please,” he’d said while leaning over the table of college students. They had apparently sensed that his ‘Please’ was not a polite request and finished their drinks quickly.)

\--asks the last table to leave before clearing his throat as he finishes wiping off the bar. Tosses the rag towards the sink. “Hey, so, I meant to say something earlier, but my car is in the shop,” Timmy says. 

Armie looks up from where he’s been counting down the till. Puts a stack of cash on the counter and flicks his lower lip with his tongue. Asks, “So, you meant to say something earlier but you decided to wait until I’m trying to count?” Shakes his head and then goes back to counting. 

Timmy opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. Unties his apron and throws it under the bar with the rest of the laundry. 

He should just get an Uber. Except it’s two in the fucking morning and the cost of a ride right now is basically half of what he’s made tonight. Well, half of what he’s made minus whatever Armie’s going to tip him out. _If_ he tips him out. Timmy’s broken three glasses tonight and, after each one, Armie reminded him, “That’s coming out of your tips, kid.”

Well, he said that after the first two. By the third one, Armie seemed actually pissed. Grabbed Timmy by the back of his shirt and shoved him away from the bar. “Go wipe the fucking tables down,” he’d ordered. 

“At least let me clean u--” Timmy had insisted, trying to kneel down but being pulled back up by Armie, his rough hand grabbing Timmy’s arm and yanking him up.

“Just get out of my way,” Armie’d hissed. Pushed him again and Timmy took the hint. Grabbed the rag from the sink and went to wipe down tables. Didn’t come back until Armie was leaning over the counter, joking with one of the regulars. 

(Armie seemed like a different person when he was talking to one of the regulars. He joked, smiled. Actually seemed to enjoy being around them. With Timmy, it was all trite, requisite conversations and harsh commands. Most of the time, Armie seemed like he would prefer to ignore Timmy, but then--

No, no. Timmy isn’t going there. Isn’t going to think about how Armie’s always pushing him around. Shoving him forward to slip behind him or tugging him back when he needs something in front of Timmy. He isn’t going to think about how Armie is always in his space, even when he doesn’t need to be. 

Definitely isn’t going to think about how he felt Armie’s eyes on him the entire time he was cleaning off tables. The entire time he was supposed to be out of Armie’s way.

And, more than that, Timmy isn’t going to even _touch_ the thought that maybe he likes it. Maybe he likes Armie putting his hands on him and telling him he’s a “worthless busboy” which, unfortunately, seems to be what Armie refers to him as the most. 

[And, in Armie’s defense, Timmy is a pretty awful busboy. Maybe not worthless, but close.])

“I’ll just--” Timmy starts. 

“--Thirty-five, forty, forty-five, fifty,” Armie says loudly. Rolls his eyes and then starts to count quietly again once Timmy shuts up. 

“Take the garbage out,” he whispers under his breath. Grabs the black bags by the back door and walks outside. 

It’s warm and Timmy carries the bags across the alley to the dumpster. Lifts the flap and heaves them inside. 

Turns and pulls a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, a lighter from his front. He walks back towards the bar and lights up, shoving the pack back in his pocket. Leans against the wall and has basically decided he’ll just walk home when the back door slams open and Armie stalks out. 

He has a deposit bag in one hand and his keys in the other. Glances over his shoulder on the way to his truck and rolls his eyes at Timmy. Tosses the deposit bag in through his open window, then turns to Timmy. “Didn’t know you smoked,” he says. Comes close enough to pluck the cigarette from Timmy’s lips, bring it to his own. Inhales. 

“Sometimes,” Timmy says. 

Armie rolls his eyes. Exhales, turning his head slightly so the smoke ghosts against the side of Timmy’s face. “These things aren’t good for you,” Armie says, then tosses the cigarette to the ground. Stomps it out with his heel. “Now, what were you saying about your car?”

He doesn’t blink, just stares down at Timmy. 

Waits. 

His jaw is tense, lips tight. 

Timmy swallows and looks down. Stares at Armie’s shirt. His t-shirt is grey and somehow looks both stretched out and too small. Tugs at his biceps, hangs against his collarbones. “My car is in the shop,” he reiterates. 

“And what the fuck does that have to do with me?”

Timmy rips off the bandaid. “Would you give me a ride home?” 

There’s a beat of silence then Armie chuckles. Takes one step closer and Timmy can feel the warmth of his body. “I’m not in the habit of giving people rides for free,” he says and then starts to turn away. 

“I’ll pay,” Timmy says. “Of course I’ll pay. I’ll take your truck on my break tomorrow and fill it up if you want.” 

Before he’s even finished his offer, Timmy’s expecting some retort about how Armie can’t even trust him to do dishes let alone drive his truck. He should have just offered cash or--

Fuck, Armie’s even closer than before. Chest almost touching Timmy’s and his hand coming up to rest on the brick next to him. Timmy turns his head to look at Armie’s hand, his wrist. “I don’t want your fucking money,” Armie whispers and his breath smells like he took a shot of _something_ before coming out here. 

Apparently, working with Timmy really _is_ that rough for Armie. 

(Or, maybe. Just maybe. Possibly, Armie needed a bit of courage to take that first step. To admit every rough touch was to avoid a caress. 

[Nope, nope, nope, not thinking about that.])

“Then what do you want?” Timmy asks. He’s starting to get a good idea, but knowing Armie this is just a way to get the upper hand. To have something else to tease Timmy about, to mock him for. 

In his peripheral vision, Timmy sees the bob of Armie’s Adam’s apple as he swallows. The curve of his lips as he slowly says, “I want you to wrap your pretty little mouth around my cock.” And the way he enunciates the last word, his throat seeming to open and close around each hard consonant, is enough to snap Timmy’s eyes back to his Armie’s. 

Timmy should say no. He should say no because Armie has been nothing but an asshole to him since his first day. Has done nothing but push him around and press him hard against walls and remind him on a regular basis that he’s shit at his job.

He should say no--and he would--if it weren’t for the one time Armie wasn’t an asshole, at least not towards Timmy. 

It had been a Friday. Busier than a normal Friday and Armie had placed a few drinks on a tray and said, “Think you can handle carrying this to the guys by the door?”

And Timmy had rolled his eyes and grabbed the tray. Walked to the table and set it down. As he unloaded the drinks, he asked the men how their night was going and the one closest to Timmy said something stupid like, “Better now that you’re here, Sweetie,” and Timmy didn’t even have to look at the bar to know Armie was watching.

Didn’t have to look because the moment he felt a hand cupping the back of his thigh, sliding up his inner leg, Armie’s voice was loud, the bar seemed to fall silent as he said, “Get the hell out, dickwad,” and strode across the bar. Pushed Timmy behind him before reaching for the guy’s collar and yanking him out of his chair. Shoving him out the door with a quiet, “You don’t fucking touch my busboy,” that maybe Timmy wasn’t supposed to hear, but it was loud and clear in his ears. 

Later, when they were closing up, Armie had stood behind Timmy while he finished drying glasses said, “You should have punched that guy,” but it sure sounded like, “I wanted to punch that guy.”

He should say no, but part of him thinks Armie doesn’t know what to do around Timmy. Doesn’t know how to act, like an elementary kid pulling their crush’s pigtails. So, he should say no, but instead he licks his lips and asks, “Out here?”

Armie shrugs. “Why not?” Grins at Timmy like he’s won. 

Timmy looks away. Down the alley. “Because anyone could see us--”

“No one is going to recognize you,” Armie rolls his eyes and pushes away from the wall. “Jesus, I didn’t think you were this much of a prude. Just get in the truck,” Armie says, starting to walk away. 

“No, wait, wait,” Timmy says. Reaches out and wraps his fingers around Armie’s wrist. Tentative at first, waiting for Armie to jerk away from the touch. But he stops walking, so Timmy tightens his grip. Says, “I’ll pay up,” and tugs Armie back. Tugs him until Armie’s chest is against his and if he were to just tilt his head up, take a chance and close the gap between them, he could taste the liquor on Armie’s lips, the warmth of his mouth, maybe even the soft comfort of his tongue. 

Instead, he gets a harsh smile that reveals sharp canines and even sharper tongue. “Then hurry the fuck up. One of us actually worked tonight, and I’d like to go to bed soon.” He puts a hand on Timmy’s shoulder and pushes him down and Timmy is surprised by how readily he sinks into a crouch, spreading his legs to accommodate Armie’s calves. How easily his hands come to Armie’s belt and he slips the leather through the clasp. Tugs at his button, his zipper while Armie slips a hand into Timmy’s hair, coming to rest on the back of his head. 

Timmy reaches into Armie’s pants, his boxers. Wraps his fingers around his soft cock--

(And maybe, just maybe, Timmy likes that Armie isn’t hard yet. That he wasn’t thinking with just his cock just now. That maybe Armie was a bit nervous, even if his words weren’t.)

\--and comments, “And here I thought you got off on being an asshole,” before pulling Armie’s dick out and wrapping his lips around the head. Sucking gently, fitting most of him in his mouth just to take all of him at least once, his own cock starting to fill out along with Armie’s. Pressing against his jeans and, fuck, he wants to enjoy this--

(Because he’s thought about it a lot. Thought about Armie shoving him onto his knees in the men's bathroom and forcing him to take his cock. That’s the one that he thinks about the most even though he knows how often the bathroom floor gets mopped, knows how filthy it is, but maybe he thinks about it [and is now really the time, Timmy? Can you just focus on the task at hand?] the most because he knows that all he should want from Armie is filth. He shouldn’t want anything more than dirty knees and a sore throat from a guy who has made it really clear to Timmy that he thinks that’s all he’s good for.)

\--wants to remember every detail from the smell of Armie’s sweat to the tangy taste of his cock and the way his fingers feel firm against his scalp so that tonight when he touches himself, when he ruts against his mattress and imagines Armie fucking him into it, he can think about this, think about the reality of what it was like to have Armie. So, he presses his palm against his own cock and then moves it to rest on Armie’s thigh. To feel the thick muscle and make another memory while he jerks the base of Armie's cock, slides his mouth off, works his tongue in his mouth and then spits on Armie’s cock. Slides his hand along the length until he’s slick and Timmy is surprised by how quiet Armie has been since he pushed Timmy down, since he got his way. 

Timmy looks up at Armie, flicking his tongue along his slit and Armie is staring down at Timmy. It takes him a second to place the look because it’s not one he ever thought he’d see on Armie’s face. Armie is looking down at Timmy in awe, his lips parted and eyes partially closed. 

Timmy pulls back, the firm pressure of Armie’s hand keeping him from pulling too far away. Strokes Armie’s cock and blinks up at him. Comments, “So quiet now, Armie.” And then he keeps his eyes on Armie’s face as he sinks back down on Armie’s cock, chasing his fist almost to the base. Grinning around the flesh when Armie’s jaw drops and his eyebrows dip together. Timmy pulls off. Taunts, “Getting shy on me?” before repeating the action, never looking away. Watching as Armie heaves a deep breath and closes his mouth. 

Fists his fingers tight in Timmy’s hair and pulls him off his cock. Crouches down until he’s eye level with Timmy. Whispers, “The only thing your mouth is good for is keeping my cock warm, so fuck off with the running commentary,” and purses his lips. Timmy watches his cheeks work, can sense his tongue gathering spit, letting it pool in the middle. Armie pauses long enough that Timmy doesn’t think he’ll do it, wants to tease him, but instead he just holds his mouth opens, tongue out. Nods slightly and closes his eyes. 

Is held in place by Armie’s hand when he jerks back at the sudden splash of spit that hits the corner of his mouth, rolls down his chin. Timmy bites back a moan and desire to swipe his tongue into the mess, to taste Armie’s mouth in any way. 

Armie stands back up and guides his cock back into Timmy’s mouth. Thrusts shallowly once or twice and Timmy tilts his head back and braces his hands on Armie’s thighs. Tries to relax his throat and gives another slight nod that it’s okay, he’s ready, Armie can do whatever he--

“What? Are you as lazy at sucking cock as you are busing tables?” Armie asks, thrusting hard into Timmy’s mouth. Not all the way, not enough to make him gag, but enough to shove Timmy backwards. Enough to almost knock him off balance if it weren’t for his hands on Armie’s thighs and Armie’s hand on the back of his head. He starts a quick rhythm and Timmy guesses Armie wasn’t lying about being tired. Wanting to go to bed soon. “Going to make me do all the work, make me fuck your whore mouth? Look at you, just fucking taking it. You do this all the time, don’t you? Let men use you and--” 

Timmy can’t help the noises he makes now. Moans mixing with wet gurgles as he tries to take more of Armie’s cock, tries to meet his thrusts, finding himself rocking between Armie’s hand and his dick, spit dripping from his lips, mixing with precum and slipping down his chin. 

“Shit, Tim, like that, like that,” Armie pants, then pulls back, holding Timmy’s head back so just the tip of his cock is pressed between Timmy’s lips. Pleads, “Don’t swallow, please, don’t swallow, wanna see it, wanna see my come in your pretty mouth, Timmy,” as Timmy swirls his tongue around the head. Once, twice, then stilling and tilting his head back as the first spurt of come hits his tongue. Breathing heavily through his nose as he lets Armie’s come pool in his mouth. 

Keeps his eyes closed until Armie says, “Look at me, please,” his cock slipping from Timmy’s mouth. Opens his eyes, then his mouth, unable to stop some of Armie’s come from leaking out, trailing down his chin. “Holy shit,” Armie says. Reaches down to swipe the come from Timmy’s face. Brings it to his own lips and licks his fingers clean. “Yeah,” he says, breathless. “Yeah, okay, you can--” and Timmy quickly closes his mouth and swallows. Is unable to hide the slight flinch as the cooling come slides down his throat. 

There are voices, suddenly. Loud and drunk and Timmy darts a look down the alley to where a group of college students are coming closer. “Fuck,” Timmy hisses and scrambles to stand up. Knows there’s no way they can’t guess what’s going on. Knows there’s a good chance they might recognize him from campus, from--

Armie helps him stand up and presses Timmy against the brick. Leans down and slots their mouths together, covering the side of Timmy’s face with one of his big hands while wrapping his other arm around the back of Timmy’s neck, effectively hiding him from any familiar eyes. 

It’s a chaste kiss, Armie’s lips soft against his own and, after a few moments it’s awkward. Just lips pressed together as they wait for the voices to arrive and leave. They might comment, but all Timmy can hear is the heavy breathes from Armie’s nose, his own. 

Then, the voices are fading away. Armie slaps Timmy’s cheek softly. Pulls back and shrugs. “See? No one recognized you. What’s your address?” Tucks himself back in his pants and finishes buttoning up as he walks to his truck.

_____

Timmy’s house isn’t far away. It’s just a few miles, but Timmy doesn’t even make it to the first stop light before he has to reach down and adjust his cock. Press his palm against himself to relieve some of the pressure and, whatever, fuck Armie. He can make fun of him all he wants for getting hard from that. Timmy likes sucking dick and that’s nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to--

“You liked it that much?” Armie asks, not taking his eyes off the stop light. The red light reflects in his pupils. 

“Don’t be an asshole,” Timmy says, staring out the window. “Not about this.” 

Armie shakes his head. “Not being an asshole, Timmy. Just asking.” The light turns green and Armie swallows. Says, “Take your dick out.”

“Why, so you can tell me I have a small, worthless dick that--”

Armie reaches over and cups Timmy through his jeans. “Doesn’t feel small.” Gives him a squeeze, then puts his hand back on the wheel. “Come on, I want to see how hard your cock got from having my dick in my mouth.” 

Timmy shifts. Unbuckles his seat belt and asks, “If I show you, will you give me a ride home again tomorrow?”

Armie laughs, and it sounds genuine. “I’ll tell you what. If you’re able to come before I get to your house, I’ll pick you up _and_ drive you home tomorrow. And I won’t even make you lick my ass.” 

(Jesus Christ, but what if he wants to--no, no, no. Nope. Not going there.) 

Timmy sighs and unbuttons his pants. Lifts his hips and pushes his pants down, pulls his cock out just as they stop at the next stop light. There are no other cars on the street and Timmy wraps a loose hand around his cock. Is about to start stroking himself when--

“Why would I make fun of your cock? You have a nice cock,” Armie comments. Reaches over to press two fingers along the top, his thumb on the bottom. Gently jerks him and adds, “Pretty, just like the rest of you.” Puts his hands on the wheel as the light turns green. 

Timmy swallows. Doesn’t know what to do with that comment, so he just takes it. 

They’re not far, now, and Timmy starts fisting his cock. Knows he won’t have a problem coming before Armie stops in front of his house, but wanting to make this last a bit longer. Wants to see what Armie wants from him. 

“So, you liked it,” Armie states. Makes a right hand turn and reaches out to turn the radio off. Timmy’s shallow breaths and the slide of his hand on his cock the only sounds until Armie requests, “Tell me what you liked about it.”

(God, that’s such a loaded fucking question. Timmy liked that it felt dangerous, that it seemed like things could tip the scale at any point. Could weigh too much, be too heavy. He liked that he knew it wouldn’t, that Armie might be an asshole but he’s not a bad person. Timmy liked that it was _Armie_. Liked that tomorrow, they were going to work together and Armie wouldn’t be able to help but think about Timmy on his knees, mouth full of his come. And maybe, maybe wouldn’t be able to stop himself from remembering Timmy’s lips, the way Timmy chased Armie as he backed out of the kiss. [Did Armie notice that? God, he hopes not. Or, maybe…])

Timmy lets his head fall back against the seat. Speeds up his strokes and looks over at Armie’s hands on the wheel. Notices scratches on his knuckles, his fingers. Remembers that hand in his hair, holding him in place. Guiding him and, apparently, keeping him from smacking against the brick wall. 

The cuts look angry and they make Timmy’s stomach flip, his cock drip precum. He gasps, “I liked how rough you were and when you called me a whore. When you fucked my mouth and told me that was all I was good for and--”

“Don’t you dare get any jizz on my seats--”Armie demands. Tosses a few napkins at Timmy, who takes them in his free hand. Holds them against the head of his cock. 

“--I liked when you spit on me, when you kissed me, when you, fuck, fuck,” Timmy hisses and comes into the napkins, his stomach muscle quivering and shoulders buckling forward as Armie’s starts to brake. Presses a strong arm against Timmy’s chest. Pushes him into the seat and steadying him through the final tremors of his orgasm. 

The truck comes to a complete stop in front of Timmy’s house and Timmy wads up the napkins. Looks for a place to put them and Armie holds out his hand. Takes the napkins and folds them into his fist. “Did you just mom arm me?” Timmy asks as he zips his pants up. Reaches for the door handle. 

“Yeah, I guess I did,” Armie says, his face twitching with a smile. He nods at Timmy’s house. It’s dark except for the porch lights. A two story craftsman. “This is where you live?”

Timmy nods. Shrugs, “Well, it’s my parents house. I--”

Armie’s eyebrows go up and he rushes, “You live with your _parents_?”

Another nod and this time Timmy opens the car door. “Yeah,” he says slowly as he watches Armie’s face soften. Fill with questions, with worry, with-- “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

It sounds stupid. Fuck. Timmy slides out of the truck. Is about to close the door when Armie says, “Hey, Timmy?” His jaw is tight, eyes narrowed. “You better not make me fucking wait tomorrow.” 

Timmy stares at him. Rolls his eyes and slams the door. “_You_ better not be late picking me up,” he responds. Turns just as Armie starts to pull away. 

Presses a hand to his mouth and feels the smile start to spread across his face.

**Author's Note:**

> bartbarthelme on Tumblr.


End file.
